WideEyed Wanderer
by Demus
Summary: When the cry fills my ears and I feel a harsh tug at my rib cage, I know that I am to be freed.' Yami ruminates on his host and his duty to protect the Chosen One. Set during Duellist Kingdom.


A/N: This story is set during the early part of the Duellist Kingdom arc and is told from Yami's POV. The duel mentioned is of little consequence- perhaps Yuugi found the time to indulge in a friendly or two?

Disclaimer: I do not own _Yu-Gi-Oh!_

_Wide-Eyed Wanderer _

When the cry fills my ears and I feel a harsh tug at my rib cage, I know that I am to be freed.

I do not know why I am here, or how, but I know that it is my duty to protect and guide the Chosen One who released me from my eternal dreaming. I am his shadow, the shade that falls behind him, taller, stronger, older and wiser. I am his other, as he is mine.   
And yet, my charge seems little aware of my presence- some sorcery on my part, I confess. The corridors of his mind remain sealed, as it is for all humans. For most humans. Even for my little one, these corridors are a secret tucked away in the darkness.

As it should be. A demon lurking in one's mind…I would hate to drive my host to insanity.

My gentle host.

In that moment when the lines between our spirits blur, I feel _everything_. I feel each passing thought as it flows like quicksilver, flitting with lady-of-the-night moth wings, butterfly kissing my consciousness. Each joy, each hope, his fear, each dread, each dream. I hear every chirrup of laughter tripping over every gut-wrenching puppydog whimper. I taste every nuance of life in his vibrant young mind, thrilling in my vicarious existence, feeding greedily on sensation after sensation- thousands of years locked away as nothing more than a wisp of a ghost makes one crazy for sensation, any sensation to share_steal_.

His pain I take willingly.

Stretching the muscles of my_his_ legs, feeling them protest as they adjust to my extra height, I feel the tiredness weighing leaden in his_my_ limbs. He is taxing himself, burning himself away to fuel his inner fires, the fires that keep the monsters away- but not all the monsters, my little one, I am still here. Resting one hand on my_his_ hip, I fight the tremble threatening to overcome me_him. _I roll his_my_ shoulders, trying to loosen the tautness, trying to lighten the load of the world resting upon him_me_. Small wonder that he dies in his sleep, barely noticing my intrusions into his soul room, my insubstantial hand on his cheek, willing him to trust the presence he cannot feel.

Small wonder that the screams of his nightmares echo in my silent world, reverberate through the emptiness of my multi-levelled tomb.

Small wonder it is that I can taste the tinny edges of his daydreams as he treks across the inhospitable island, little mental escapes that draw him far from his physical reality and ever so much closer to my spiritual fantasy.

Mounting the duelling platform, feeling anticipation (anticipation, such a wonderful chemical reaction, firing untold passions in the blood) buzz, angry as a startled wasp, in our veins. Joined together, his stimulating mind partnered with my cynical brain, I let my natural arrogance come to the fore, showing my confidence in a smirk made for crueller lips.

What things I am teaching your body, soul-partner.

What new strains you will feel in your tired, tired bones when I relinquish my grip on reality.

I caress the surface of our deck, stroking the edges with a fingertip, feeling the softness created by much shuffling of the beloved cards. I pay the monsters our respect in the slightest bow of my head, asking that they might lend me their strength in this match.

Our opponent barks his challenge. My smirk deepens. Foolish boy. You pit your heart against my partner's? You pit your wits against the King of Games?

Idiocy, in its rawest, simplest form.

The match is a pleasant diversion and I revel in each jump and trip of my host's thoughts as I guide him, instruct him, nourish his natural talent with my wisdom. I revel in the victory, in the inevitability of our triumph.

When the final count drops to zero, I step back from the platform, uninterested in my opponent's rage as I turn my thoughts inwards, blocking out the cheers of his_my_ friends. Normally I would retreat, but his exhaustion worries me. Mindless wandering in the search for this journey's completion hangs heavy on him. This burden I would take for him, if only for the afternoon.

Weaving a simple sleeping spell is painfully easy…I press it to his spirit image as a concerned relative presses a kiss to a scraped elbow or bumped head.

_Rest, my little one,_ I whisper to the faint resistance of his soul. _Rest your great heart._

Oblivion claims him. I return to my outward vigil.


End file.
